Now I don't normally like to blow my own trumpet (although I knew someone at school who was double jointed and used to smugly claim that he could) but in this case I couldn't resist.

Yes, it's official, I have a fan club. And no it wasn't set up by my mum. It's on the stupidly popular Facebook and was set up by my one celebrity fan, Ben Peyton. If you watch The Bill or Casualty, you'll know who I mean. Oh yes, I don't just have any old riff-raff fans you know! Nothing but the best for you.

Now for the bad news. Despite Ben's best efforts, at the last count it only had 7 members. Yes that's right, seven. And one of those is my mum! So come on people, throw me a bone here. Sign up to my fan club please, as this is now getting rather embarrassing.

You need to be registered on Facebook - once in, simply search under James Twining - Unofficial Fan Club and then follow the instructions to join. I've no idea what treats Ben has in store for you once there - you'll have to wait and see...


How quickly things change. Having boasted of my manly DIY prowess last week, I have suffered an debilitating reversal of fortune in the virility stakes. I have lost my mobile phone.

Actually, to be more accurate, my wife lost it. But that's hardly the point. I feel like a knight without a horse, a sharpshooter without a gun, Indiana Jones without his hat. My whole life was in that bloody thing and now it's probably half way to Nigeria with a container load of flat screen TVs and printer cartridges.

Mobile phones are unique for their size being inversely proportional to their desirability - the smaller and thinner they are, the sexier. And believe me mine was tiny, not to mention equipped with phenomenal staying power (battery life) - the sort of phone that had women blushing every time I flopped it out onto the bar.

It's replacement, in contrast, has stripped away my mojo - it's the size of a brick and equipped with with the world's smallest (black and white) screen and massive keys that seem to have been designed to help children learn to count. I've heard of retro chic, but this is ridiculous - it's a museum piece. Not to mention the embarrassment caused when I put it in my back pocket yesterday - I'm reliably informed that the tell-tale posterior bulge made it look like I'd had an unfortunate accident.

Oh joy.

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